


heroes don't take sick days

by carefulren



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses, Sickfic, and Tony being really shitty at not caring, and ned being the real mvp best friend he is, honestly i just wanted a spiderman sickfic since i've watched homecoming, so here's peter wanting to be a good hero even tho he's sick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-20
Updated: 2017-07-20
Packaged: 2018-12-04 12:40:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11555394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carefulren/pseuds/carefulren
Summary: When Ned fails to get Peter to rest, he goes to the one person he knows will make Peter listen: Tony Stark.





	heroes don't take sick days

Stark Tower is way bigger than Ned expected; he knew it would be large and fancy, but this massive building exceeds his expectations by a long shot as he climbs the steps to get to the front door. He’s actually not even sure if there’s a front door, and he’s incredibly skeptical at the lack of security.

His Uber driver was able to drive him up to a large gate and promised to wait, and to Ned’s surprise, the gate had been unlocked, leaving him to think that either the people in charge of Stark Tower are lazy in regards to security or someone left it unlocked because they’ve been expecting his arrival.

Neither seems like a plausible option to Ned as he drags his gaze slowly up and down a massive set of double doors that seem to stretch endlessly above his shorter frame. He lifts a slightly shaking hand and raps his knuckles against the metal door, but after only two knocks, the doors slide open, and Ned staggers back slightly out of surprise when his mind catch up to his wide eyes gawking at Tony Stark.

“Uh,” is all Ned can manage out as his jaw practically hits the ground, and Tony arches one brow and tilts his head slightly with a dismissive expression.

Ned can only watch, mouth opening and closing silently as words fall lost on shocked lips, while Tony whips his phone out and dials a number before pressing the device to his ear. It feels almost as if everything around him shifts into a quiet slow motion, with the only sound coming from his heart hammering loudly in his ears.

“There’s some kid here. Probably a fan. Can you handle it?”

Tony’s words bring Ned’s quiet world back to regular speed, and he blinks rapidly while holding one hand out to prevent the older man from sidestepping around him. “Wait, I’m not a fan! Well,” he pauses with a slight shrug. “I’m a huge fan, really, a massive fan. You are so cool.” His eyes take on a dreamy haze of admiration as a sloppy smile curls at his lips, but Tony’s narrow gaze brings him back down from the cloud threatening to whisk him away.

“But I’m not here as a fan! I’m Ned! I’m friends with Peter!”

Tony’s face twists slightly at the words, and Ned imagines a dart flying straight toward a bulls-eye.

“Never mind,” Tony mutters into the phone before dropping the call and sliding the phone back into the pocket of his tailored suit that’s cut in a way to tease at his muscles without providing too much of a show, and Ned briefly wonders if Peter will ever get to wear something like that just as Tony clears his throat.

“How’s the kid doing?” Tony asks, and Ned shakes his head in a hopeful attempt to get back on task.

“Uh, that’s actually why I’m here.”

“He’s caught up in something dangerous again?”

Ned shakes his head and wrings his hands. “No. He’s sick.”

Tony’s face remains dismissive as he picks apart the words, but Ned catches onto the slight twitch in the older man’s brow, and he deciphers it as a rare, subtle hint of concern.

“Tell him to take some medicine and rest,” Tony says finally as he takes a step forward to sidestep around Ned, but Ned slams his hand against the door-frame, promptly blocking Tony from leaving.

“I’ve tried. He doesn’t listen to me. He keeps on with the whole ‘I need to help people’ argument every time I tell him he needs to rest.” The words spill from Ned’s tongue like small tangles, and he sucks in a hopeful breath as Tony once again silently studies his words.

“Tell Aunt May.”

“Ah,” Ned says as he drops against the door-frame until he’s directly in front of Tony. “We kind of have a ‘don’t tell May’ rule because Peter doesn’t want to worry her.”

“Kid, I know you mean well, but I’m a very busy man. You get that, don’t you?”

Ned steps away and cups one hand over his mouth to hide his smile. To the blind eye, this would appear to be a direct end to a seeming one-sided discussion, but Ned knows better. Peter has told him on multiple occasions that Tony hides his concern and direct answers behind clipped responses regarding how busy he is. So, Ned knows. Even if Tony made it seem that he doesn’t care about the issue, Ned knows Tony will handle it. He watches as Tony disappears into a large garage before he skips down the steps back to his Uber.

*****

Peter bumps into someone as he makes his way down the dark alley to get back to his backpack that holds his regular clothes. He’s normally more perceptive, but his head is throbbing fiercely, making his vision waver in and out of focus. It’s been a mess, really. He’s narrowly missed crashing into, at least, five buildings because of his strained vision. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knows he shouldn’t be out; he should be in bed under a mass amount of blankets to rest, but his need to help, to be the hero this town needs, takes center priority.

He opens his mouth to rasp out a muffled apology, but the person spins around, and Peter stumbles back with a gasp that grates harshly against his throat as he blinks away his hazy vision to see Tony Stark standing before him.

“M-Mr. Stark?!” Peter sputters out with a loud crack as he struggles to catch his footing. He clears his throat and slides his hands down the front of his suit as if to smooth away wrinkles. “What are you doing here?” He winces slightly at the evident rasp in his voice and prays to whoever is listening that the older man doesn’t notice.

“I’m feeling sushi,” Tony tells Peter as he thumbs away at his phone. “Have you eaten?”

Peter blinks, almost dazed, at the words, and he wordlessly shakes his head, not wishing to tell Mr. Stark about his absent appetite.

“Great,” Tony says as he tosses Peter’s backpack to him. “Get changed so we can grab some dinner.”

Peter can only nod, too shocked to form words around trembling lips, as he clutches his backpack to his chest just as Tony swiftly walks out of the alley and back into the quiet streets. He waits until the older man is out of sight before ducking behind a dumpster to shed his suit.

Instantly, he’s met with the icy November air his suit was doing such an amazing job of blocking, and he spares a moment to consider leaving his suit on under his clothes before deciding the idea too risky as he steps out of it entirely. He’s shivering hard enough to where he struggles with the zipper on his backpack, and every inhale brings in cold air that burns his lungs bad enough that he has to muffle a coughing fit into the fabric of his backpack. By the time he’s finished, he’s numb with cold, and his vision is swimming dangerously. He has to grip the dumpster to keep himself upright as he hurries into his clothes, and he curses himself for not wearing a thicker jacket while he shoulders his backpacks and starts out of the alley with his arms crossed tightly around his trembling frame.

Tony only offers him one raised brow before starting down the sidewalk, and Peter has to blink away the haze coating his vision as he starts after the older man. The restaurant is only a few blocks away, much to Peter’s relief, and it only takes one look toward Tony from the hostess until the two are ushered into a private back room with chefs following behind them with plates of food.

Peter picks absently at his food while Tony’s already five pieces of sushi in. The older man is quiet while he eats, and Peter slides forward until he’s on the edge of his seat, muffles a cough into the crook of his arm, then drags a questioning gaze toward Tony.

“Is this an Avengers thing?” Peter asks quietly with a low rasp that has him leaning back slightly under Tony’s borderline dismissive gaze.

Tony stabs his fork at a piece of sushi but doesn’t bring it to his mouth. “No.”

Frowning, Peter leans back fully against the back of his chair and crosses his arms, and moments later Tony matches his stance, food forgotten as the two stare down one another as if searching for a crack that will break way to what’s on the other’s mind.

Peter’s struggling to spot a reason behind Tony’s neutral expression because the need to cough is swelling in his tight chest and threatening to burst up his throat. If he falls into a coughing fit now, Tony will no doubt take his suit away until he’s fully recovered, and Peter truly feels this town cannot afford going a few days without a hero. He spares a quick glance toward the door leading back to the restaurant and makes a hasty decision.

“I’ll be right back,” he mutters, voice cracking, as he darts out of his seat and into the open restaurant. It takes only seconds to spot the blinking bathroom sign, and he ducks into the men’s room and locks himself into a stall.

The ground underneath his feet is tilting as if balancing on the point of a cone, and Peter falls back against the locked door as he gives in to the coughing fit. Each cough is deeper than the first, and his lungs rattle in his chest as he doubles over while blindly reaching one hand out to brace against the side of the stall. Tears sprinkle at his eyes, and his entire body tightens and tenses with each cough. He’s considering death as an actual option when the fit finally tampers off, leaving him gasping for breath with buckling knees.

This isn’t right, he thinks as he slowly turns and unlocks the door. He spares a quick glance around, but luckily, he’s still alone. He shuffles toward the sinks and stares with a frown at his reflection. His face is pale; he mirrors the coloring of someone lying on their death bed. His only saving grace is the deep red that colors his cheeks and extends across the bridge of his nose. He weakly presses the back of one trembling hand to his cheek and breathes out a hushed sigh. He’s warm, far too warm to be considered a normal temperature. Yet, his bones feel as if they are made of ice and threatening to crack and shatter.

Admitting he’s sick isn’t something he really wants to do, but he can’t deny the fever and chesty coughing fits as he bends over the sink to splash some cool water over his face. All he has to do is make it through this dinner with Mr. Stark then he can catch a late bus home and sleep off whatever the hell this is.

The water burns ice cold against his hands but feels heavenly against his heated face, and when he bends back up while blinking water from his eyes to grab a paper towel, he lets out a sharp string of curses when he spots Tony’s reflection behind him.

He spins around quickly and blindly grips at the sink beside him to keep himself upright just as Tony arches one brow at him.

“Where did you get such a foul mouth?”

“How long have you been in here?” Peter counters as he wracks his brain to remember someone coming in, but he can’t recall hearing the door open at all.

“Long enough to hear you hacking up a lung,” Tony says before stepping forward with a raised hand.

Peter tries to back away from hand reaching out to him, but he only presses hard against the edge of a sink just as Tony carefully smooths a palm to his forehead with a low whistle.

“That’s some fever you got there,” Tony tells Peter as he drops his hand, and Peter drops his gaze to the floor. He can’t be certain, but there’s a twinge of something coloring Tony’s tone, and Peter is thinking it’s concern. He doesn’t want to have Tony Stark, of all people, worried about him, but he’s cornered. He lets out a weak cough and wraps his arms around his shivering frame.

“This is why you’re here,” Peter mutters out quietly, and Tony hums in agreement.

“Some kid named Ted came by and told me you were being a stubborn brat.”

Peter snaps his head up with a sharp frown. “Ned told you that I’m sick? When? Why would he?”

Tony waves a dismissive hand before wrapping strong fingers around Peter’s arm to pull the younger boy out of the restaurant and to the car that’s waiting for the two right outside. “Ask him later.”

“Wait,” Peter tries with a harsh cough as he cranes his neck around toward the private room. “My backpack-”

“Already grabbed it,” Tony says as he pushes the door open and stalks over to the car with Peter stumbling behind him.

The two get into the car, Peter more reluctant, and in just a short twenty minutes, Peter’s opening his and May’s apartment door with Tony standing as a tense force behind him.

“Peter? Where- Oh! Mr. Stark! I didn’t know you were stopping by.” May says while walking toward the door. She absently fluffs up her hair and pulls her glasses from her face.

Tony shifts into charm in the blink of an eye and gives May an easy smile. “I won’t be staying this time, unfortunately. Just bringing Peter home, so he can get into bed and rest.”

“Rest?” May asks under her breath before she slips her glasses back on. She sucks in a sharp hiss as she takes in Peter’s blaring, flushed cheeks, and she crosses the room in a heartbeat to press a palm to his forehead. “I thought you might be coming down with a small cold, but you are burning up!” She steps back and drops both hands to his shoulders. “And you’ve been running around in that light jacket? Are you out of your mind, Peter?”

Peter can only drop a sheepish gaze toward the floor, and Aunt May tsks at this before pulling him toward his bedroom.

“I would see you out, Mr. Stark, but I suddenly have more pressing matters.”

Tony offers a small wave. “No worries. Just make sure Peter gets better.”

Peter listens for the click of the apartment door before he’s shoved onto his bed. He watches May rush out of the room with mutters words of anger and worry before he crawls fully onto the bed and fights with the covers for a moment. Once he’s bundled up, he’s already drifting off. He knows he should stay awake to take medicine, but exhaustion settles like a heavy weight over his body, and next thing he knows, he’s succumbing to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> what are titles?


End file.
